


Another bed

by dicks



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: 1859, 8059, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:05:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicks/pseuds/dicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were things Gokudera would never say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another bed

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta’ed, unedited and angsty.

Yamamoto didn’t have to even say anything because Gokudera knew, he preferred not to, but he knew it anyway; from the way Yamamoto fidgeted nervously as Gokudera walked towards the car, the way his shoulder tensed, wrong and heavy, the downturned of the corner of his lips, Gokudera knew something was wrong because Yamamoto wasn’t good at hiding, and Gokudera was never good at _not_ overlooking.  
  
Gokudera watched the street signs along the Shinjuku road, lights that were too bright; he saw two girls leaning against the street lamp, giggling, and then an old man raiding a trash can caught his eyes; Japan was always too stuffy, or too humid and too noisy at night with sleepless people. Gokudera watched a boy fell off his bike in front of a convenient store, crying his eyes out. Gokudera took a last long drag of his cigarette before threw it over the window, all the while pretended not to hear the words coming from Yamamoto’s mouth or the sound of his own heartbreak on the whole way back to the base.  
  
-  
  
The day Yamamoto fucked some random girl on some random bed, Gokudera was in Messina, in his hotel room, nursing a bottle of Moretti, while the pad of his thumb punching on the ridiculously small buttons— _will be back tomorrow, see you at the airport and don’t be late, idiot._ Yamamoto was coming hard on the cheap cotton bed sheet when Gokudera hit the send button.  
  
(fuck you. fuck you, bastard. why? no, don’t answer that. please. god, what the fuck is wrong with you? no. tell me, what the fuck is wrong with _me_? i’d never— tell me, tell me, did you fuck her mouth too? did she suck you dry? did you play with her tits? did you kiss her? like you kissed me? did you, did you, did you ever—)  
  
There were things Gokudera would never say.  
  
“I’m so, so sorry, Gokudera— I just, it just— God, please, believe me I was drunk and I’ve been missing you so much and I love—”  
  
That wouldn’t change shit, and they both knew it. So why bother?  
  
-  
  
Once, on the beginning of their relationship, Bianchi had pull Gokudera into some corner, said, “Don’t fuck it up, Hayato, don’t fuck it up. You have the tendency to push people away once they got too close to you but for once get down from your high horse and let it _be_ —”  
  
It would be funny except it wasn’t, really, and it would be _so_ fucking easy, but Gokudera didn’t bother to tell her sister ‘it wasn’t me, damnit, look at me, i am the one with the heartsore’ so he gritted his teeth and locked his jaw tight, as the girls glared at him with accusing eyes, tight-lipped and hurtful, and when Yamamoto entered the kitchen, they fussed over him, showered him with sympathetic smiles and Gokudera thought, he’d let them play this game because it was none of their business, but then Gokudera remembered the one morning they had spend lounging on the bed with Yamamoto’s mouth on Gokudera’s neck, whispering things that did not matter anymore because things had changed, they had changed, and kismet was such a divine bastard anyway, and Gokudera thought again, why bother, indeed. Indeed. And Gokudera wanted to just _scream_.   
  
-  
  
Gokudera didn’t need excuses when he found himself on another’s bed. He was too sober for this shit. Hibari yanked Gokudera’s pants down to his ankles, and then palmed his balls through the thin fabric of his boxers and Gokudera’s fingers on Hibari’s shoulders kept pushing or tugging and unmoving at some point and it didn’t matter because then Hibari’s lips found his and it was good, this heat, this sensation, this feeling of being wanted, (even if the one you really wanted broke your heart into a million beyond-repaired pieces, and you’d begin to crack, eventually, you’d go under, well), Gokudera didn’t want to pull away.   
  
So let it be.  
  
-  
  
(i am sorry. was it my fault. you aren’t supposed to be like this. i should be the one— because i’m the broken goods. i’m fucking spoiled and yet i kept on thinking, keep on thinking that i could change somehow, that people would take me anyway. take me in, i am broken, take me—)  
  
There were a lot of things Gokudera wanted to say but never would.  
  
-  
  
Gokudera lit his third cigarette for that hour, watched the raindrops pelting down on his window, wondering; what’s with this emptiness on his chest, because everything was aching, right down to his fingertips, and then he blew the smoke away in the darkness of his room. He put down his cigarette on the ashtray, walked towards the bathroom, splashed his face with some cold water and then back again into his room, and lit a fresh stick of cigarette. He picked up his mobile and then dialed for Hibari, and Gokudera thought, maybe, ten years from now, or so, perhaps one day would come, and they’d be able to laugh about this and Yamamoto’d, _remember the one time I broke your heart? Well, that was hilarious wasn’t it, Gokudera?_  
  
And perhaps Gokudera’d laugh too.  
  
-

_\- another bed, other ears, other ear rings, other mouths, other slippers, other dresses – Bukowski_


End file.
